This morning came early. Whiskey Kitty and I began the day with a mission: carrier, car, and courage. The vet had postponed her procedure before because of congestion that could interfere with anesthesia, but today she got the green light. Operation: Spay and Secure.
She came home with two upgrades. One surgical, one technological. Along with the spay, they implanted a microchip so she can be tracked if she ever gets lost. I’m still not sure how I feel about my cat getting computerized, but if the choice is between privacy and coyotes, I’m voting for satellites. I worry about her getting outside. One curious adventure could turn into a showdown with a raccoon, a possum, or worse. She may think she’s a jungle tiger, but this is Southern California. The wildlife here doesn’t play.
Now she’s upstairs recovering, wrapped in that special post-surgery mood somewhere between groggy and outraged. She’s meowing constantly, delivering a long and detailed complaint about the injustice of modern veterinary medicine. I’ve never heard her talk so much. Apparently, anesthesia comes with opinions.
On the way to the vet, we made a stop at 7-Eleven for tea.
And I came out with another pack of cigarettes.
It happened so automatically it almost felt like muscle memory. Like my hand made a decision before my brain even got a vote. It’s frustrating, because part of me feels like I’m not even trying. But underneath that frustration is something else. A quiet confidence. Cold, steady, patient. The sense that I’m circling the runway and the landing is coming soon.
This afternoon, my case worker helped refill my medication containers, including Chantix. The last time I took it, it worked before I even realized I was taking it. The cigarettes just… lost their voice. That’s the goal again. Not a dramatic battle. Just silence where the craving used to shout.
After the clinic, we stopped at Walmart for groceries. My old fiancé once said that if you take Dan to a grocery store, he grabs anything that looks like a snack. Today, history repeated itself. Apparently, my survival strategy for quitting nicotine is replacing it with crackers, cookies, and anything that comes in a colorful box. Progress comes in many forms. Some of them are crunchy.
Meanwhile, I’m waiting to hear back from Vroman’s Bookstore and several other venues about book promotion events. If everything lines up, this year is going to be busy. One event almost every month through July, and probably more after that. Art shows. Book signings. Opportunities. Momentum.
That helps.
Because distraction is one of my best tools right now. Staying busy. Staying focused on the future version of my life instead of the cigarette in my hand today.
There’s a myth about addiction. People think that once you stop, the desire disappears. Anyone who’s lived it knows better. The addiction beast doesn’t die. It just gets quieter. It stops roaring and starts whispering. And over time, the whispers fade into background noise.
I remember that silence.
I want that silence back.
Right now, it’s almost 4:30, and I’ve got three cigarettes left in the pack.
I might smoke tomorrow.
But if I stop at three tonight, that’s a small victory. A rehearsal. Practice for the quit that’s coming.
Recovery isn’t always a dramatic moment. Sometimes it’s just this:
One less cigarette.
One busy day.
One healing tuxedo kitten upstairs.
One future getting closer.
The beast isn’t gone yet.
But tonight, it’s a little quieter.
by Dan and Bonkers
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